Transience
by Shiara Daydream
Summary: While your love is constant within your ever shifting world, your lives are far more transient. *Warning: major spoilers for Asra's route in The Arcana*


Disclaimer: The Arcana, and all of its characters, are the property of Nix Hydra.

You wonder if you exist only to hurt him.

The thought reverberates throughout your body, bubbling along your skull, cold tendrils reaching through to the tips of your fingers, rising up to sit traitorously on your tongue, as it blooms: deep-rooted in your heart.

It only gets worse the longer you stare at the stark pain on his face: sweet Asra, the light of your life, your star who burns himself up for you - _you despair at the thought that he has, he will again, for how much longer?_ \- only for destiny to force the two of you apart yet again.

That fateful day comes to mind, after meeting for the first - _second -_ time in the marketplace. As you grew to care for your confusing, if kind Master, the shared gazes _(held moments too long, the feelings in his eyes a language you should be able to read_ ) _,_ absent caresses brushed off as manifestations of your own longing, making you see things that weren't there.

Distance was your enemy then: you felt he was untouchable, even when he was blessedly in the shop with you, the two of you lounging around a low table, poring over the tarot decks and trying to entice them to divulge their secrets. _"The magician," said Asra, picking out a solitary card holding the cunning fox . "Be mindful of what he tells you, the arcana have their own will, and he enjoys mischief especially towards those who would know his secrets." Asra's eyes would gleam at these words (for a moment you see the fox staring back at you) before softening into his gentle gaze; one you would hope was only seen when it was just the two of you._

And yet, whenever he traveled that distance, leading to endless days of scattered thoughts without end: when or if he would return (the latter dreaded and denied in the light of day only to return as a specter during the nights in the darker corners of your dreams; half-forgotten as hopes of seeing familiar gleaming eyes, a sly if tired grin, and open arms come through the shop's door) would never be as difficult to bear as the two inches between you when you slept side by side. When your hands would brush as you're passing a cup of tea, being brought together as if by some inner magnetism, yet never becoming something more. .

 _Surely he feels it to, you would think to yourself, allowing a brief glance at Asra's eyes only to find them staring fixedly, determinedly, at a distant spot over your shoulder, seemingly unaware of the pull between you. You look away before you can see his eyes search out yours, gaze at your profile, waiting and_ _ **longing**_ _for a sign, a reason to hope…_

Though while Asra remains your star _\- constant and ceaselessly certain of your place at his side, so much he had willed it to be so -_ he in fact does not remain in a cosmos beyond your grasp: you reach for him and he begins to reach back towards you, like trees in a grove whose height and branches have finally grown in the rich sun and spread out ever close to the other, entangling boughs and branches, hopelessly intertwined. Then distance is no longer your enemy; but secrets and gaps in your memory fill its place.

Your Asra has always been an untethered soul, as playful and implacable as the wind: a strong forceful presence under the correct circumstances, making some part of you tremble at the thought that the formidable presence your lover can embody ( _only for you, always for you_ ) can also be a sly and subtle figure should it suit his purposes, and mysterious. Always mysterious, non-answers to questions of where he will travel, when he will return; but also about the two of you. You cannot fathom how or why, but there is a certainty embedded into the spaces between your heartbeats that he would never knowingly hurt you, that he would sacrifice everything for you should the need arise

 _The need_ _ **did**_ _arise, whisper your dreams, a red fox running through a dark, a collapsing building; burnt, why is it burnt? The soot and ash an inch-thick on the grounds, a metal door ominously looming before you. Not there!, you scream, anywhere but there!_

Your memories don't return, but in heart wrenching, halting words, Asra begins to tell you how you came to be in your second coming ( _and while a part of you is retching at the answers, of the dreams of fire, your first ending, another part of you whispers that you always knew this bright one with silver hair was yours for the keeping, and now you know for certain_ ). And when he can no longer speak, his words spent ( _how many times has he tried to explain this before_?) and he looks up at you, on his knees awaiting your judgement ( _was it enough? Was it too much, what he did? Going down forbidden paths, condemning himself perhaps, all to have you returned to him)_ and all you can do is look into his eyes, that too often hide from what he is truly thinking in favor of a happier guise rather than reveal to you the depths of his contemplations, are now truly bare in the face of your response.

An endless purple, like that of his own magical in-between world, covering everything in the hue of opulence and magic; he now prostrates himself in front of you to seek his redemption or condemnation at your whim. It strikes a chord within you, something deep and integral, perhaps crossing the two lifetimes you now knowingly embody: _that the endless reserves of kindness, patience, understanding - love, all of it love, how could you have been so blind to it? - is borne of his suffering; unselfish and grateful for this fledgling return to your love, he doesn't expect more._

This only reassured you in your choice _(as if you could choose any but him)._

Reaching for him, always reaching, you take his face between your palms, fingers brushing sliver locks that are askew from the force of his hands running through them during his impassioned confession, and meet his waiting gaze directly. It breaks you to see him so desperate, so unsure of your response: you press your lips to his and relish the sensation, he is surprised and doesn't respond immediately, so you take the moment to kneel down to meet him ( _the depths of his love have always amazed you, this won't be the last time it brings you to your knees)_ and he groans into your mouth, arms coming around you to hold you tightly against him, fingertips - _yours, his_ \- pressing into any bare skin they encounter, to assure the both of you no sickly and cold touch of death lingers around the two of you: alive and vibrant, you whisper the words of understanding and forgiveness he needs to hear, though while you don't remember your time gone from this world you know that nothing save fate herself could take you away again ( _the tarot burn in your pocket…)_

And while the investigation at the palace continues, it is dim in the effervescence of your love, both finally in time with each other and open with your feelings. Nothing can ever match the quiet smiles shared between the two of you in the morning or at night, opening or closing your eyes to each other no matter the place. Absent touches and caresses are not taken for granted between lovers since the pain of separation lingers in recent memory ( _and looms on the horizon, whispers the owl in the garden, ivory beads from round the priestesses neck reflect the waning moon_ ).

Every touch is a miracle to you, and you marvel at the softness of his skin, the adoring and bemused gaze of Asra as you explore the curves and dips in his arms, the firmness of his chest, the contours of his face, as his eyes dare and tempt you to continue ( _though they can't completely hide his wonder - can he have recovered your love? Does he get the chance to live your love with you after losing you? - and trepidation - can he lose you again or are your trials over? Does he deserve this?)_

You both become complacent, not with each other, but when you forget the cruel whims of the fates; for even those who devote themselves to listen to the whispers of the arcana are not left untouched by the games they play. And so now you stand near Asra, as near as when you stood next to him not but an hour ago, ( _the bargain still rings hollowly in your ears, the short time it took for your life to be a game piece to the shadowy players of fate again)_ and half of his heart breaks within your chest ( _just as his does_ ) as terrible realization sinks into his eyes, and incomprehension changes into a grim understanding of what the two of you have lost ( _again, again and again, starts the refrain in your mind, the words bounding in as your heart, still beating, seems to echo its footfalls within your mind)_.

And for the first time you don't reach for him.


End file.
